


With you, (I'm not broken anymore)

by Squeaky



Series: The Soulmate Series (no one asked for) [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Completely fake eastern European countries, Except not red, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Red String of Fate, Sokovia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Sokovian Uprising sucked and people died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: Just like his mother, Bucky used to be able to read soulstrings: The coloured threads the Universe puts on the left wrist to help soulmates find each other. Until the Sokovian Uprising happened and he lost his Talent along with his arm. He's been broken, both inside and out, ever since.But those weren't the only things lost in Sokovia. His aunt, Magda, also died in The Uprising, leaving his twin cousins, Wanda and Pietro, orphans and him their guardian. They never talk about how Magda died, or that her death was Bucky's fault.Bucky is just living day-to-day, running his family's bookstore and caring for the twins as best he can, trying to hide how broken he is from his cousins and the world. Until Steve Rogers comes into his life, beautiful and sad and asking for a soulstring reading Bucky can't give. Bucky agrees even though he shouldn't, and very quickly he and Steve develop feelings for each other. But Bucky knows their relationship is doomed before it starts, because it's only a matter of time before Steve learns the truth: he has no Talent, he's utterly broken, and worse of all -- what really happened that night in Sokovia...





	With you, (I'm not broken anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> **Important Note: This story revolves around the dying/death of three different mothers: Bucky's, the twins' and Steve's. Please do not read if this will trigger you.**
> 
> Once again I want to thank my excellent BFF [ Taste_is_Sweet ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) for beta-ing this tragedy. She beta'd it over the winter holidays while she had guests, which meant she was reading my prose at 2 a.m. I am so blessed to have her in my life. 
> 
> As with my last story, the inspiration for Bucky's prosthetic comes from: [ Advanced Arm Dynamics ](http://armdynamics.com/pages/what-you-need-to-know) Check out their stuff. It's wicked. 
> 
> The perfect title for this story was gratefully taken from: [ Not Broken Anymore ](https://youtu.be/ZH2WpV3Pl24) by Blue October. A beautiful, bittersweet and hopeful song. You might like it. 
> 
> This is the fourth story in my abuse-of-tropes Stucky soulmate series. I was aiming for one story per month but as I haven't posted since September, I have apparently failed miserably. I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> * * *

The bell above the door rang with an unusual urgency as the door to the bookshop burst open, letting in a gust of cool October air and a tall blond man who looked like he was about to cry. 

Bucky's whole body recoiled as _flight fight freeze!_ immediately kicked in. His hand tightened around the handle of the broom he'd been using. For a split second, the cozy dark walls of the shop disappeared and he was surrounded by a dark forest and gunfire and the sound of screaming…

"Sorry to bother you," the man said, and just as quickly Bucky was back. 

He took a deep breath. "You’re safe, you're home," he said under his breath, repeating the mantra his counsellor had taught him. He gave himself a moment by leaning the broom he'd been using to sweep the nearly-spotless floor of the shop against the wall behind the counter. He hadn't been making much headway sweeping with only one complete arm and just half of the other, but he'd been too lazy to fetch his prosthetic from the apartment above the store. 

He turned what he hoped was a convincing smile towards the new patron. "How can I help you?"

The man ran a shaky hand through his hair, doing nothing to straighten the wind-blown strands. It'd been styled short, which seemed slightly too severe for the boots-jeans-brown leather jacket combo he was wearing, but Bucky couldn't help but notice he filled his clothes out exceptionally well; the strength of his body apparent even through the layers of cloth. "I. Uh." He ran his hand through his hair again, staring at the floor as if he was inspecting Bucky's recent cleaning. He didn't say anything else.

That answer didn't tell Bucky anything except that the man was in distress, something Bucky was more than familiar with. "Are you hurt?" Bucky tried. "Do you need an ambulance? Or the police?"

"No." The man shook his head. "No, I'm okay." His smile was barely a flash across his mouth. 

He really didn't seem okay, but Bucky wasn't going to argue. "Were you looking for a book?" The man had just run into a bookstore after all, maybe he'd actually done it on purpose. Of course, Bucky's family's bookstore specialized in New Age spirituality and the occult and not your average airport paperback, but it was still possible the guy was here for something in that category.

The guy raised his head, and Bucky was immediately struck by the incredible colour of his eyes. They were an intense blue, like small pieces of the sky, and coated with a layer of sadness so deep that Bucky found himself taking an involuntary step closer. 

The man dropped his eyes again. "No. I just--" He took a shuddering breath and covered his eyes with his hands. 

Shit. He was crying. _Shit!_ Bucky shot a quick glance over his shoulder to the back room behind him, even though he knew it was empty. He was all alone with this. "Okay, um, okay." Bucky licked his lips, feeling overwhelmed. But he knew what it was like to fall apart in public and that empathy was enough to get him moving. He went over to the guy and gently steered him towards the small area behind the cash register, where Wanda and Pietro usually did their readings. Bucky led the man behind the Victorian-styled screen and sat him down in one of the soft chairs. He was strangely pliant, seemingly content to let a perfect stranger place him like a doll at a tea party.

Tea. That was a brilliant idea. They had, like, a fuckton of specialized teas to help people connect with their auras and chill and shit. "I'm gonna get you tea," Bucky said, and practically fled to the other side of the store where they had their tea area set up. The tea Bucky had brewed that morning as a taster was meant to energize and invigorate instead of sooth and calm, but the large, insulated urn he'd used to keep it warm had done its job and the cup he poured the man was still steaming. He hoped the pleasant smell would help regardless. 

It was hard to carry a cup of tea on a saucer with only one hand, but Bucky managed to bring it back to the guy with no mishaps. The guy was wiping tears off his face by the time Bucky returned and they were red-rimmed and bloodshot, which only made them look that much bluer. He looked up at Bucky with a gratefulness so intense that Bucky barely kept from squirming. He sat down instead in the seat Wanda normally used. 

"Thank you," the man said as he raised the tea to take a sip. The dainty cup and saucer looked terribly fragile in his large hands. 

"Welcome," Bucky said. 

The man gave him a watery smile. "I don't normally do this." 

"Drink tea?" Bucky smirked. 

The man grinned back, as Bucky hoped he would. "Have breakdowns in people's stores." 

Bucky shrugged like having people cry in the bookstore was a regular occurrence. Considering he'd probably done it more than once, maybe it was. "Shit happens." 

"I guess," the guy said. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The guy sipping his tea and Bucky trying not to stare. He was really good looking, with high, pronounced cheekbones, an even nose, perfectly-shaped lips and a sharp, square jaw framing it all. In fact, if one of his cousins had used their witchy powers to conjure Bucky's dream man out of thin air, he probably would be almost exactly like the guy sitting in front of him right now, sipping on lemony tea and surreptitiously wiping his runny nose on the sleeves of his jacket. 

"D'you want a tissue?" Bucky asked, just as the guy said, "do you have a napkin?"

They both laughed, and Bucky couldn't help but admire how a smile made the man's face even more handsome. He stood to get some tissues off their counter and returned to the table, glad as always that Wanda and Pietro were so good to him by making sure the store had everything it needed. Even though he'd never deserve their help. 

"Thanks," the man muttered, and wiped his nose again. Silence descended between them, long enough this time for Bucky to start to fidget. The store hadn't been that busy today, probably because of the cooler weather that late October always brought to Brooklyn. But it didn't mean that Bucky had nothing to do. He didn't want to leave the guy while he was obviously upset, but he really couldn't sit there all day. He licked his lips, trying to figure out what to say that would sound supportive but also allow him to extract himself. He knew how bad shit could get sometimes, but sitting with the guy was kind of reminding him of everything, and it was making him feel anxious and uncomfortable. 

"You better?" Bucky started to ask just as the man began speaking at the same time. They both laughed again, and some of the tightness in Bucky's chest eased. He smiled at the blond man. "You first." 

The man's returning smile was like a little bit of sunshine. "Thanks," he said. "Thanks for this." He gestured at the tea and the tissue box. His eyes were still red-rimmed but he looked marginally better. 

"Welcome," Bucky repeated. "Glad you're good." He went to stand. "I gotta do some work, but feel free to sit here as long as you need. We got more tea—"

"I was looking for someone," the man said before Bucky could finish. 

Bucky sat back down, curiosity piqued. The guy was too old to be friends with his cousins, and Bucky knew for sure he'd never would've forgotten if they'd met before. "Oh yeah? 

"I'm looking for Winnifred Barnes." 

Bucky's heart dropped to his stomach. He should've expected that, but even after all this time he was still caught by surprise when people asked for Winnie and her special Talent. 

Bucky swallowed. "Winnifred?" 

"Yes. I need my soulstrings read." He held out his left wrist, jacket pushed up to his forearm to expose the pale skin underneath. "I have to find him."

 _Him?_ Bucky thought, immediately pleased that he and this gorgeous man swung the same way. But he shook the thought off. They weren't soulmates and this certainly wasn't the time. "I'm really sorry. I wish I could help, but my mom doesn't do soulstring readings anymore. She can't." He took a breath, and gave the truth that hurt every time he said it out loud. "She's dead." 

"What?" The man's voice was barely a whisper. 

"She died about four years ago. Heart failure." And it was Bucky's fault too, but the guy didn't need to know that.

His eyes filled with tears. "But, my mom's dying." 

Bucky's heart dropped straight from his stomach to his boots. "Your mom's dying?" he said, voice creaking. He gripped the arm of the chair with his one remaining hand. _'Mama!' Wanda screamed, pulling against Pietro's hand as they ran through the woods. The sudden, terrifying sound of gunfire and an explosion of pain through his left arm…_

The man nodded, wiping at his eyes with a fresh tissue. "Cancer. In her lungs. We just found out this morning. The doctor said they have a few treatment options to try, but that she may only has a few months. She needs to know I won't be alone." 

"But my mom's dead," Bucky repeated. He felt faint. His head spun as he fought to keep himself grounded in the store. 

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the man said, and the sympathy in his expression nearly made Bucky lose it right there. 

"It was pretty rough," Bucky choked out, and he wasn't just talking about his mother's sudden collapse after she'd found out what happened to her sister. The honesty of his words surprised him. He _never_ talked about this shit.

"I can't imagine losing your mother," the guy said. And then he blanched as he realized what he'd said. It was heartbreaking. 

"Come back tomorrow," Bucky said before he could think about it. He wanted to help this guy. He'd known him for no time whatsoever but everything about him made Bucky want to do whatever he could to ease some of his pain. Maybe it was just because he knew how hard it was to face your mother's death, or maybe it was because of Magda, and how he'd failed her, but he didn't want him to leave without some spark of optimism. "I'll be able to help you then." 

The man's smile was so full of hope that it was almost painful. "Thank you," he said reverently. He stood and put out his hand for Bucky to shake. Bucky remembered he had to let go of the chair arm before he could grasp the man's outstretched hand. "My name's Steve Rogers." 

"James," Bucky said. "But you can call me Bucky." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucky," Steve said.

"Likewise." 

"I'm going to visit my mom in the hospital tomorrow, but I'll come by after. Maybe around two?"

Bucky nodded. Steve gave him one last gorgeous smile, and left. Bucky put his head down on his upper arms, reminding himself to breathe. 

He'd given himself less than twenty-four hours to try to figure out a way to get Steve his reading so that Steve could tell his mother he could find his soulmate so she could die in peace. He'd told Steve this was possible even though Wanda and Pietro were too young for their soulstring-reading Talent to manifest. He'd told Steve to come back even though Winnifred was dead and Magda....

He couldn't think about her. Not now and probably not ever. 

Bucky had the Talent to read soulstrings, or at least he did, once, before Sokovia. He rubbed his left arm, fingers curling around the stump that ended just above where his elbow should have been. When he'd lost his arm he'd lost everything. 

He sighed in despair. 

In less that twenty-four hours Steve would be back, and Bucky would have no choice but to admit that there would be no reading. He'd have to let him down.

But that was really what Bucky was best at, wasn't it? Letting people down who were counting on him?

"I'm sorry Magda," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

The bell over the door rang a short time later, and Bucky roused himself just in time to see his cousins come in. 

They both looked wind-blown and damp from the rain that was now falling, and Bucky could see that the sky outside the large front windows was grey and gloomy, perfectly suiting Bucky's current mood. 

Pietro shook his hair playfully, trying to splatter Wanda with water. She shrieked, laughing, and shoved at him, which caused Pietro to spin around to run—until he saw Bucky and he stopped dead, nudging his sister with his elbow.

"Hello cousin," he said, his Sokovian accent making the words sound especially formal. He carefully wiped his hair and grimaced. "I am sorry I am so wet. I will clean up the mess." 

"We didn't mean to get water on the books," Wanda said. Her green eyes were huge with concern. "Are you upset?"

"I'm not upset," Bucky sighed. He stood and forced himself to smile. It was always like this with his cousins. They constantly acted like he was two seconds away from screaming at them, or curling up in a ball on the floor. He missed the days when they trusted him enough to climb on his back, or tease him, or hell, even fucking smile in his presence. They were twins and ten years younger than Bucky, but their families had visited each other for every summer and most school holidays since Bucky was ten and the twins were born. At one time they'd felt like the siblings he'd never had. 

But that was before the Uprising, and then everything that happened afterwards. They'd witnessed his rages and his crying jags that lasted for hours, so their caution made sense. But he just wished they could relax around him now. He wished they could see the fact that he was better now. Less angry, at least. His therapist had helped with that. 

He just wished he knew what to do to make it better.

Pietro was still wiping the miniscule drops of water off the cover of the books with the sleeve of his jacket. "They are fine," he said. His smile did nothing to hide the trepidation in his eyes. 

"It's okay guys, really," Bucky said. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to remember what his therapist had said about rebuilding normalcy after trauma. "How was school?"

"Fine," both twins chorused. 

Bucky sighed again. "Anything good happen?" 

Pietro blinked. "I got an A on my French test?"

"My math teacher has asked me to tutor the grade nines?" Wanda added. "Is that good?"

It was like every word the twins were saying was stabbing into his heart. "I don't mean academically. I mean what happened that you thought was good? You know, good for you?"

"Is my French grade not good enough?" Pietro's eyes were now as wide as his sister's. "I tried to get an A plus, but it is sometimes hard to remember how French grammar is different from Sokovian—"

"That's not what I meant!" Bucky said, more sharply than he intended. The twins both cringed. "That's not what I meant," Bucky repeated more softly. "I just wanted to know what made you happy today. That's all." 

"Coming home to see you makes us happy," Wanda said. It was impossible to tell if she meant it or not. 

"Seeing you makes me happy, too," Bucky said. At least that was true. He might've been the biggest fuck-up of a guardian that the world had ever seen, but he loved his cousins. He just wished they knew it. 

Another wish he didn't know how to grant. He was hopeless.

Pietro took a few tentative steps closer. "How was your day?"

Bucky thought about his day, and meeting Steve and the subsequent mess he'd managed to get himself into. His first impulse was to tell the twins it had been 'fine,' and then they could all continue their awkward non-interactions until they ate a silent dinner together, the twins did their homework and everyone went to bed. 

But he really, really didn't want to do that.

He'd spoken to Steve for less than ten minutes, but he'd been more emotionally open with him than he'd been with anyone recently but his therapist. And it was good. 

His therapist was always telling him that actually talking to his cousins would make a huge difference in repairing their relationship. Maybe telling them about Steve could be a good place to start? 

"How's about you guys take off your coats, and I'll make us tea and we can talk?" 

The twins didn't move. "Talk?" Wanda said in the same voice as if he'd said: "Firing squad?"

Pietro's swallow was audible. "Are we in trouble?"

"No!" Bucky just barely stopped himself from shouting. "No, no trouble. No one's in trouble. We just haven't talked in a while, and, um." He licked his lips. "I'd like to?"

"You'd like to talk?" Wanda smiled, and it was tremulous but also _real,_ and Bucky realized that he owed his therapist a bottle of the good stuff. Maybe two if Pietro's smile was anything to go by. 

"But the store?" Pietro asked. "We usually stay open longer." 

"Fuck it." Bucky grinned at Pietro. "The weather's rotten and anyone who wants to visit can come back. I want tea. And cookies." 

"Cookies!" Pietro dashed to the back room and had hung up his coat in a hot second. "I am going to put the kettle on!" He ran upstairs to the apartment they all shared.

Wanda turned the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed,' and giggled as she came towards him. "We are being very wicked." 

"We are being a family," Bucky said and put his arm around her shoulder. To his surprise and gratitude, she leaned into him. 

"We are being a family," she repeated quietly. 

"I found the cookies!" Pietro bellowed from the top of the stairs.

Bucky grinned to himself. His therapist was going to be so proud.

* * *

"I am very proud of you," Natasha Romanova, Ph.D. in psychology, said to him the next morning as they sat together in her office. "But my question is, how do you feel?"

"Good." Bucky smiled as he said it. He'd really enjoyed talking with his cousins. They'd laughed together for the first time in what felt like years. "It felt good. Normal."

"I'm really happy to hear that." Natasha smiled at him, and Bucky couldn't help the burst of pride her approval produced. She leaned onto the arm of the overstuffed chair she favoured for their counselling sessions. "So what did you talk about?"

Her tone was casual, but Bucky knew the question was anything but. She was really asking if he and his cousins had finally spoken about Sokovia, and what had happened there. Natasha counselled both Bucky and the twins. She never shared what she, Pietro and Wanda talked about, but she certainly made it clear what she wanted Bucky to be talking about with them. She felt the only way the three of them could properly heal from their trauma was if they talked about Sokovia with each other. Maybe that's what happened when she spoke with the twins, but Bucky had never talked about it. Not with her, and certainly not with them. He'd rather die. 

His smile suddenly felt forced. "You know, school and stuff." 

"Stuff?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded, relieved to realize there was something he could talk about with Natasha that didn’t have to lead back to Sokovia. "I met a guy."

One perfectly-sculpted red eyebrow shot up. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Bucky grinned at the memory. "He came into the store yesterday. This big, tall blond guy named Steve." 

"Cute?" 

Bucky's cheeks heated. "Very." 

"So?" She prompted after Bucky didn't add anything else. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." Bucky felt his blush deepen. "He's going to come back this afternoon."

"To see you?"

"Sort of?" Bucky winced. It was more about what Steve thought he could do then just seeing Bucky. "He's coming back for a reading." 

"From the twins?"

"He came to see Winnifred," Bucky confessed. "He wants a soulstring reading." 

Confusion flicked across Natasha's face as she processed the fact that she knew Bucky's mother was dead. "I thought the twins were too young to have that Talent?"

"They are," Bucky confirmed. 

Her confused expression didn't change. "Did your Talent come back?"

"No." Bucky rubbed at the stump of his left arm, wishing for the millionth time that he'd never lost it. He wished he'd never gone to Sokovia. He wished he'd never had to see his mother's eyes before she'd collapsed: wide and bright with anguish. He thought of Magda, and the way she looked at him that final time, gaze full of resignation and fear. The last words she'd ever said to him were, _I wish you'd never come._

"Your Talent isn't gone," Natasha said softly. "I know you lost your arm in Sokovia, and I know it must have been terrible. But your Talent wasn't lost with it. It's still in you, still there for you to share with the world."

Bucky was shaking his head before she'd finished talking. He'd brought up Steve on purpose to avoid this entire conversation, but apparently everything always led back to Sokovia. "It's gone," he said with finality. 

"Yes its true people normally have their soulstrings on their left wrist, but just because you lost your left arm doesn't mean that—"

"I don't want to talk about it." 

Natasha sighed. "Bucky, you've been my client for the last two years. And I really like working with you. But the whole point of therapy is for you to talk about the things that cause you pain. And you've spent the last two years _not_ talking about exactly those things. Don't you think it's time you should?"

Bucky closed his eyes. He knew she was right. That was exactly the reason why he'd dragged his cousins to go see her. But he just couldn't. He couldn't tell her about what happened in Sokovia. He couldn’t tell anyone. Only the twins knew the truth about what had happened. They never, ever talked about it. 

"I can't," he said finally, his gaze on the floor. 

"Okay," Natasha said after a moment. "So, let's talk about Steve again. What are you going to tell him when he comes this afternoon?"

Bucky chuffed out a humourless laugh. "I have no clue."

* * *

The bell over the door jangled at precisely two o'clock. Bucky smiled before Steve had fully come into the store. 

"Hey," he said. He knew he was grinning stupidly but unable to help himself. 

"Hi." Steve grinned back, and Bucky's breath caught with how incredibly handsome Steve was, how openly he smiled, how nice his eyes were, and how kind. _Shit, I'm totally gone for this guy,_ Bucky thought. And then he remembered that Steve was only there for a soulstring reading that Bucky couldn't give him. His smile slipped.

Steve didn't seem to notice. He stood in the middle of the store, rubbing his hands together in obvious nervousness. "So, uh. Where do you want me?"

 _In my bed,_ Bucky thought immediately, and then shook his head to clear the image of Steve, naked and wrecked against his sheets. He cleared his throat. "Do you want some tea first? Or maybe some water?"

Steve blinked. "I guess tea would be good?"

Bucky nodded and went to get Steve a cup of today's tester while Steve took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair he'd sat in the day before. Bucky stood by the urn as he poured the tea, trying to figure out how he was going to break it to Steve that he couldn’t do a reading for him. 

His mind remained uselessly blank. 

Sighing, he brought Steve's tea over, once again walking slowly as he balanced the cup and saucer with just his right hand. This time Steve sprung up to grab it from him before he had to set it down. Bucky thanked him and then sat. 

He still couldn't think of anything. 

They stared at each other, and Bucky found himself just getting lost in Steve's incredible blue eyes.

"Should I drink this first?"

Bucky started, and then smiled to hide his embarrassment. "Yeah. Sure. That's good." 

Obediently Steve took a sip. "So do you read the cup or something after?"

Steve was talking about someone doing a reading of the residue in a cup after someone drank loose leaf tea. It actually was something Pietro was particularly good at. Both Pietro and Wanda were highly sensitive psychics who had natural Talent in divining people's future. Pietro liked using physical things he could hold, like tea cups or Tarot cards, while Wanda preferred her crystal ball or scrying with a glass of water. 

Bucky's mother's family had produced people with psychic abilities for as far back as Bucky could remember. Winnifred had been able to tell people's fortune just by touching their hands, and she could see soulstrings without them needing to even show their wrists, and Magda had been equally as powerful. Winnie had thought that Bucky, as her only child, might have the same powers she did, but he hadn't manifested anything as a teenager. She'd just about given up until his ability to read soulstrings finally appeared just before he turned twenty-one. It was the last psychic Talent that manifested in their family, and Winnifred had been elated but also sad to realize that her son was a one-trick pony. 

But he'd only had his ability for a few months when he'd gone to Sokovia, and now it was gone for good. Just like he'd told Natasha. 

And now he'd have to tell Steve. 

"No," Bucky answered Steve's question. "You can just drink it. You know, for enjoyment."

Steve smiled shyly at that and took another sip. He surveyed the room. "So, how long have you worked here?"

"My whole life, actually." Bucky leaned back. "Most of my childhood was spent around this shop." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded. "My mom was a psychic—"

"Soulstring readings." Steve nodded. "I know." 

"She was pretty famous for it," Bucky agreed. "But she could do a lot of other stuff as well. My dad thought she should make it into a business, but she didn't like charging people money for it, so they opened this shop." 

"New Age and occult?" 

Bucky nodded, and then launched into a fairly practiced description about what each one was and how they differed from each other. It led into a pretty interesting philosophical discussion about the nature of humanity and whether or not people in this generation were better or worse than the one before. 

It turned out Steve was a great conversationalist. He was smart and educated, with a dry wit and excellent sense of humour. Bucky kept having to remind himself that he wasn't on a date with this fantastic man, but that Steve was only there to find his soulmate. Who probably wasn't Bucky.

It was kind of depressing, really. 

Steve took a final sip of his tea which had now gone cold. He set the cup back down on the saucer, and gave Bucky a smile which was now edged with nerves. "Now what?"

"Uh," Bucky started. He'd forgotten that he hadn't told Steve he couldn't read his soulstrings. Then he remembered the reason for Steve's urgency. "How's your mom?"

Steve blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "She good," Steve said, then grimaced. "I mean, as good as she can be, I guess. They've started her on radiation to try to shrink the tumour and she's on a pretty good pain medication that seems to be working so…" He shrugged. His smile was heartbreakingly brave. 

"Sound's hard," Bucky's voice was rough. 

"It's pretty awful," Steve agreed. "I keep thinking about all the things that she wanted to do when she retired. She's not going to be able to do any of them. There're so many things she's going to miss. That's why it's so important I find my soulmate. So at least she can meet him before…" He trailed off, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Bucky couldn't stand it. Steve's sadness was reminding him of every second of agony he experienced after his mother died, and then before that in Sokovia, when Magda—

He stood, unable to stay still for one second longer. "Let's go for a walk."

Steve stood as well, obviously confused. "Walk?" he repeated. "Is this part of the reading?"

"Yeah," Bucky lied. He was moving swiftly towards the doorway, hoping Steve would follow. 

"How?" Steve fell into step beside him, and waited as Bucky turned the sign on the front door from 'open' to 'please come again,' and then locked the door. 

"Helps me get a read on your energy," Bucky said, repeating Pietro's explanation for why he used Tarot cards with his clients. And speaking of Pietro…. Bucky checked his watch. It was quarter to three, plenty of time for him to freak out before the twins got home. 

They walked together up the sidewalk, Steve matching Bucky's quick pace with no real effort. Bucky was very glad that the day had turned out to be sunny and warm for October, because he hadn't even attempted to grab a jacket and Steve had left his hanging on the back of the chair. He took in a deep breath, tasting New York on his tongue: wet concrete and exhaust fumes; dried leaves and a hint of the winter to come. 

_I'm in Brooklyn_ he thought. _It's not night. Not Sokovia. I'm in Brooklyn. I'm home._

It wasn't helping. Talking with Natasha that morning about losing his Talent, the reminder that he'd lost it because of Sokovia, combined with Steve's grief was proving to be too much to handle. Bucky felt like he was crawling out of his skin, like he couldn't breathe. _I wish you'd never come._

"Are you okay?" 

Bucky flinched. He'd been so deep in his head that he'd forgotten Steve was beside him. Steve was looking at him, his blue eyes intense with concern. 

"I'm fine," Bucky croaked. 

"No you're not," Steve said decisively. "Can we slow down for a minute?"

Bucky nodded and slowed his pace to a normal walk instead of the near-run he'd been doing. He realized he was breathing hard, from both exertion and stress. He still felt like his body was an ill-fitting suit. It was hard to get enough air into his lungs. 

Steve was still looking at him. "Can I touch you?"

"Yes," Bucky said before he'd even really thought about it. He'd never been touched by anyone when he'd had one of these episodes before. Either he'd been alone or the twins had been too scared to go near him. He'd never lost it in front of his therapist, probably because he never really told her anything. He had no idea if being touched would help, but he knew it couldn't possibly make him feel worse.

To Bucky's surprise, Steve put his hands on Bucky's head, one giant mitt on Bucky's forehead, the other at the base of his skull. He exerted just enough pressure that it felt like a mini-hug, but not so much that it hurt. At first it felt weird, but after a few moments it began to feel incredibly comforting. 

"Breathe," Steve commanded, so Bucky did. And to his amazement it was easier to get the air into his lungs. 

Steve held him like that for a while, as if standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon holding some near-stranger's head like this was something he did all the time. Bucky knew he should've felt horribly embarrassed, both from freaking out like that and also because, well, guy holding his head. But he didn't. He felt good, almost normal. 

"Better?"

Bucky nodded, and gently Steve removed his hands. "What was that?"

Steve smiled. "My mom used to do that for me when I was upset as a child. She learned it from her mother growing up in Ireland. I don't know why it works, but it does." 

"Yeah," Bucky said, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave Steve a small smile. "Thanks." 

"My pleasure," Steve said in such a way that Bucky could almost believe it. He started walking again in the same direction, obviously in no hurry to get back to the store. "I'd be happy to hear what it was that upset you," Steve said without looking at him. "If you want."

Bucky blinked in surprise. "But, you don't know me." What he really wanted to say was: 'I don't even tell this shit to my therapist,' but he was pretty sure Steve didn't need that kind of overshare. 

Steve shrugged. "Sometimes talking about the hard stuff is easiest when you don't really know the person." 

_But I want to know you,_ Bucky thought before he shook it off. Steve was only with him because he was desperate to have his soulstrings read so he could find his soulmate. He helped Bucky because he was a nice person. This was a business arrangement, and one that Bucky couldn’t even actually fulfil, that was all. 

"We should probably head back," Bucky replied, which really had nothing to do with what Steve had said. 

"Okay," Steve agreed amicably. They turned to head back down the sidewalk to the store, walking together in comfortable silence. 

The silence remained as Bucky unlocked the door and then flipped the sign as they went inside. He checked his watch again. The twins would be home in less than half-an-hour. 

"So." Bucky gave Steve a sheepish smile. Now that he felt more normal the embarrassment about his freak out was beginning to sink in. He felt his face heat. "I'm sorry you had to see that." 

"I meant what I said, that you could tell me what upset you," Steve said. 

Bucky shook his head. "I wish I could." 

"Could I give you my number?" Steve said, pulling out his phone. "Just in case you change your mind?"

"You want me to have your number?"

"Sure, why not?" Steve smiled. "You can never have too many friends." 

Bucky laughed and took out his phone, unsure what Steve's angle was but too smitten with the guy to refuse to share his digits. "Yeah, okay." He opened his contacts and passed it over. 

Steve took it and entered his information, then texted himself so he'd have Bucky's number in return. They grinned at each other, and Bucky realized he felt happy, probably happier than he'd felt in a long time. He _liked_ Steve, and apparently Steve liked him too. Enough to get his number and say that they might become friends. 

Right up until Bucky had to admit he couldn’t do the reading he'd promised, which he was going to do right now. He licked his lips. "About that reading—"

"Don’t worry about it." Steve waved him off. "Today's not a good day. Let's just reschedule." 

Bucky stared at him. "Reschedule?"

"Yeah." Steve was looking at the calendar app in his phone. "How's around the same time on Friday?"

Friday was three days away. "I'll be here." 

"Great." Steve gave him another one of those brilliant smiles. He picked up his jacket but made no move to leave. "So, would you ever want to—"

"Hello, Bucky!" Wanda called as she and Pietro came through the doorway and went over to where Bucky and Steve were standing. 

Pietro stuck out his hand. "I am Pietro. Are you Steve?"

Steve shook Pietro's hand. "Yes, and how did you know my name?" 

"Bucky was talking about you yesterday," Wanda said.

"Steve, meet Pietro and Wanda, my cousins," Bucky said, hoping Steve wouldn't notice his blush. "We live together." 

Wanda was looking at Steve with a shrewd expression. "We don't just live together. Bucky takes care of us. He is so kind."

Pietro seemed to catch on to whatever Wanda was doing, because he immediately jumped in. "Yes! Bucky has been our guardian since he rescued us from Sokovia. He's devoted so much time to caring for us that he is very single." 

"Very single," Wanda agreed. "Almost painfully so." 

Bucky finally caught on, and his face flamed. "Guys!" 

Steve laughed. "Thanks for the information. I'll definitely keep that in mind." His eyes met Bucky's, and his gaze became knowing, like the little bit of information the twins had given him had told him a lot. "I'd be very interested to hear about this rescue." 

Bucky dropped his eyes, suddenly ashamed. "I didn't do anything." 

"You saved our lives," Wanda said softly. She took his hand. "Bucky is a hero." 

"I'm really not." Bucky forced himself to smile. He didn't know why Wanda would say that. She'd heard what Magda had said. He glanced at Pietro, but his cousin was looking at him with total esteem, like what Wanda had said could actually be true. Bucky looked away, unable to stand the misplaced admiration in their gazes. 

"I hope you'll tell me about it someday," Steve said. He slipped on his jacket. "See you Friday?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Bucky said. 

The bell chimed as the door slid closed. It was apparently the signal for the twins to start their questions. 

"Is that your boyfriend?" Pietro said excitedly. "Is he your _soulmate?_ " 

"He's not my soulmate—"

"Have you kissed him yet?" Wanda's eyes shone. 

"Can we close the shop and have tea and talk about your love life?" Pietro asked. "I will do a Tarot reading for you and tell you how many babies you will adopt!" 

"Oh my God." Bucky laughed. He still wanted to know what Wanda had meant when she'd said he'd 'saved their lives.' He knew it wasn't true, but he couldn’t understand why she would say it, even to impress a prospective boyfriend. But right now it felt like that could wait. He flipped the sign to 'please come again' for the second time that day. "Fine, we can have tea, but we're not talking about my non-existent love life, okay? You can tell me about your crushes instead." 

"I have no crushes," Pietro said.

"Shall I tell your boyfriend that?" Wanda said, and then shrieked as Pietro chased her up the stairs.

* * *

That night Bucky dreamed about Sokovia. 

He was with Wanda and Pietro in the red car, just like that night. Magda was driving, her hair wrapped in a white scarf that was tied under her chin. Except for her tear-streaked face, the absence of his uncle and the unnatural silence, it could have been like any drive he'd been on with his mother's family in any of the summers when they'd visited Sokovia.

They were headed to the border with Latveria to escape the escalating violence of the Sokovian Uprising. Bucky hadn't realized how bad things had become. The news stories of the plight of the Sokovian refugees only told the most general versions of their situation. He hadn't realized that an American boy barely out of his teens with only a working knowledge of Sokovian would be more of a hindrance than a help to his aunt as she tried to flee the country with her children. 

He hadn't known any of that until they were less than 500 yards from the border crossing, the one that was meant to still be held by the Sokovian government, but was flying the flag of the rebels instead. Rebels who saw the headlights of the car and came towards them, their assault rifles gleaming with menace in the bright searchlights around the gate. 

Magda turned to Wanda and Pietro. "I need you to listen to me," she said in Sokovian, voice tight with barely controlled fear. "I need you both to go with Bucky into the woods, deep enough so the rebels won't find you. I need you to cross into Latveria without using the road and once you're there, find the American Embassy." She pulled a thick envelope out of her purse, one eye on the movement of the rebel soldiers coming towards them. She thrust the envelope into Wanda's hands. "Take this. It's your documents and some money. You'll need this when you get across." 

"Mama," Wanda breathed, tears streaming down her delicate face. 

"No," Pietro sobbed beside her. "No, mama! We can't leave you!"

"You can and you will," she said fiercely. "I will stay here and keep the guards from going after you, but you must go. Go and don't look back. I'll meet you in Latveria as soon as I can."

"I love you," Wanda cried. 

"I love you, mama," Pietro echoed, "so much." 

"I love you both, more than my own life," Magda said, her words cracking. She leaned over the seat to kiss her children, and then she looked back at Bucky. 

It was in that second that Bucky realized that Magda wasn't planning on meeting them in Latveria. "No," he breathed. "No. I'll stay. You take your children. You go—"

"No!" she hissed at him in English. "You will take Pietro and Wanda to America."

Bucky felt his own eyes well up. "Please, don't do this. Let me stay." 

She shook her head and touched his cheek, her hand cool against his face. "I've seen the future, and this is where mine ends. But you…" she closed her eyes, and when she spoke again it was in Sokovian. "I wish you'd never come." 

Bucky woke with a start, his eyes wet with tears. He lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling of their apartment in Brooklyn. The lights of the passing cars reflected through the gap in the curtains, then drifted along the wall before they disappeared. 

That night in Sokovia had been four years ago, but none of the pain had faded. 

He sat up and rubbed his face, then touched the stump of his left. The skin was smooth under his fingers, a constant reminder of his catastrophic mistake. 

His arrival in Sokovia had caused his aunt's death. His arrival had changed her fate and caused her murder. _I wish you'd never come._

It was his fault.

Losing his arm and his Talent was nothing compared to what Magda and the twins had lost by him trying to play the hero. 

He rubbed his face again, then ran his hand through his hair, feeling the long strands between his fingers. His mother had always loved his hair when it was long, but she was dead. Her heart couldn’t take the pain of losing her beloved sister. Magda wouldn't have died if Bucky hadn't gone to Sokovia. Winnifred's death was as much his fault as Magda's was. 

He bit his lip, trying to keep himself from sobbing as he cried in the dark. The noise would only wake the twins and they deserved to sleep. 

The phone on his nightstand flashed with a text. **It's two am and you're probably not awake.** Bucky smiled through his tears. It was Steve.

 **I’m awake.** he texted back. 

**I keep thinking about losing my mom,** Steve texted. **And how much it hurts. Is that selfish? She's dying and I'm worried about how much I'm hurting?**

If thinking about how much pain you were in was selfish, then Bucky was the most self-centered asshole on the planet. **That's not selfish. Probably normal actually.**

**I feel selfish.**

**She's your mom. There's no way this can't hurt.** Bucky knew that from personal experience. When you loved someone, their loss hurt. Sometimes it hurt so much you weren't sure how you'd wake up the next morning. He'd seen it in the twins, and in his own mirror in the years after his dad died and then after the death of his mom. **But don't forget you're not alone.**

 **Sometimes I feel very alone.** Steve wrote, and Bucky's heart split a little at the words.

 **I'm here.**

**Thanks.** Steve texted back, and then: **So why are you awake?** and Bucky grinned at the obvious change of subject. 

**Bad dream.**

Steve sent a sad-faced emoji. **Want to talk about it?**

Bucky bit his lip again. _Sometimes talking about the hard stuff is easiest when you don't really know the person._ Steve had told him that, and there was a part of Bucky that really wanted to tell him. To share four years of pain with someone he barely knew.

But he knew he wouldn't. 

**I'm okay.** he texted instead. **But thanks for asking.**

**NP. You going back to sleep?**

**No.** Bucky answered honestly. He was never able to sleep after a dream like that. 

**Can I keep texting you then? I guess I don't want to be alone right now.**

**I'm here.** Bucky wrote again.

 **You're cousin is right.** Steve wrote. **You really are a hero.**

"No, I’m not," Bucky whispered to the darkness. He wanted to tell Steve that, but he knew Steve would ask him why, and then he'd have to talk about Sokovia. He stared at his phone and Steve's unanswered text, unsure what to say. 

**Hey you still there?**

**Yeah, Just sleepy.** he lied.

 **Do you want to go back to sleep?**

**No.** Bucky was enjoying texting with Steve, even if Steve thought better of him than he deserved. Texting with Steve was like having tea with the twins; fun and easy. It made him feel normal. 

**That’s good. So what do you want to talk about?**

Bucky settle back against his pillows, a small smile on his face. He knew what he wanted to talk about: anything and everything to do with Steve Rogers. **Tell me about growing up in Brooklyn.**

* * *

Bucky stumbled into the kitchen of their apartment, yawning broadly and still in pajamas. 

The twins looked at him with surprise from where they were standing in the kitchen, eating off of the breakfast bar Pietro had a spoon of brightly-coloured cereal half-way to his mouth, and Wanda had a piece of toast held up to her lips with a shiny brown coating on it that looked suspiciously like chocolate.

Bucky blinked at them. The twins blinked back. 

"Why are you not in the store?" Wanda asked.

"Are you sick?" Pietro's voice was immediately tight with worry and Bucky winced. They both were constantly worried something bad was going to happen to him. Natasha had explained that it was a natural reaction to being orphaned through war, but it still made Bucky feel guilty every time he caused that kind of concern.

"I'm fine. Promise," Bucky said to try to get Pietro's frown to ease. "I just slept through my alarm." 

Pietro's mouth curled from a frown into a sly smile. "I think you were busy last night." 

Bucky blushed. "I was in my room on my phone. Nothing happened." Except the best texted conversation of his whole life, but the twins didn't need to know that. He put his phone on the counter, face down even though he'd closed his texting app after he and Steve had said good night far too early in the morning. 

"It was Steve," Wanda said knowingly. She took a bite of her toast. 

"Yes," Bucky sighed. "It was Steve. And I'm way too tired for twenty questions, so how about I just say I like him and we leave it at that?"

Pietro's grin widened. "Next time he is here I will read his Tarot cards for sure, and you will see that he is your soulmate." 

Bucky frowned at his cousin. "He's not my soulmate." 

Pietro just shrugged and took another bite of his too-bright cereal. 

Bucky's frown deepened as he noticed what the twins were actually eating. "Is that Nutella?"

Wanda chewed and swallowed. "Pietro is eating Froot Loops." 

Pietro swore at her in Sokovian, something that Bucky was able to loosely translate as Pietro calling his sister something rude and suggesting she'd thrown him under a large vehicle.

"Don't swear at your sister," Bucky admonished him. He shuffled over to the counter and plucked a purple 'o' out of Pietro's bowl and popped it in his mouth. Yup, Froot Loops. He'd know that chemical taste anywhere. "This doesn't look like the healthiest of breakfasts for growing children." 

"I've stopped growing," Wanda said. "My feet have been the same size for the last two years." 

"That’s great," Bucky said. He thought back to the last time he'd bought Wanda shoes. He hadn't realized they were the same size as the time before. "But I still think Nutella is a shitty breakfast." 

"It has protein in it!" 

"And a fuckton of sugar." Bucky looked at Pietro's bowl. The milk had taken on a pinkish colour from the dye. "But it's probably better than the crap your brother's eating. Where did you get this shit anyway?" Bucky knew he did his best to supply them with nutritious food as often as possible, and today's breakfasts hadn't been on their last grocery list. He might be a terrible guardian, but he'd be damned if they got scurvy on his watch. 

The twins licked their lips at the same time, and then looked at each other, communicating silently with their eyes. Wanda caved first. "I bought it when you had us do the grocery shopping last weekend." 

"Without telling me?" 

"You're usually in the store at this time in the morning," Pietro said, as if that somehow explained why it was suddenly okay for them to be eating sugar and chemicals for breakfast. 

"So, just because I'm downstairs _working_ first thing in the morning, it means its okay for you guys to feed yourselves crap?"

"You sent us grocery shopping! You said we could buy what we want!"

"I meant something small, like a candy bar. Not this shit!" Bucky's gesture encompassed both the children's breakfasts. 

"You weren't there!" Wanda snapped. 

"Because I was working!" Bucky yelled. 

"You're _never_ there!" Wanda yelled back at him. Every morning and nearly every evening! You're always in that store! Working and working! You don't care about what we eat! You don't care about _us!_ " Wanda threw down her half-eaten toast and bolted from the room. 

"What about last night!" Bucky shouted after her. "Or the night before? What about that?" Her words stung. He knew he was in the store a lot. He was rarely around in the mornings when they got ready for school and it wasn't unusual for them to eat dinner by themselves while he served those customers who stayed after closing. But he had no choice. They lived in one of the most expensive cities in the world and the store was their only source of income. He'd put the inheritance from his mother in trust to send the twins to college, which made it off-limits to pay their bills. The inheritance the twins should have gotten from their parents' death was still tied up in Sokovia and would probably never end up in their hands. 

But it didn't change the fact they'd had tea and cookies after school together, twice! That should have counted for something.

He turned back to Pietro. "Your mother would never have let you eat this."

Pietro glared at him and defiantly shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "So I guess it's your fault that we are." 

Bucky froze. If Wanda's words had cut like a knife, Pietro's had gutted him. He'd never told the twins that he knew it was his fault their mother was dead. He'd had no idea that they'd thought so, too. 

The guilt reared up inside him, thick and ugly and too much for Bucky to even try to contain. He exploded.

"You think it's my fault? You think it's my fault your mother's dead? Well guess what! _I think so too!_ " 

Pietro stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "I didn't say—"

"I murdered your mother! You think I don't know that?" Bucky demanded, "You think I didn't know what happened? I fucking know what happened! I was there! _I'm the reason she's dead!_ "

Pietro's expression slid from shock to horror. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes welled up with tears. "No, Bucky—" 

"Get out!" Bucky screamed at him. "Get the fuck out!" He swept the twins' dishes onto the floor. The cereal bowl immediately shattered. Milk, cereal and ceramic went everywhere.

Pietro ran. 

"Fuck!" Bucky kicked the breakfast bar with the side of his foot, then kicked it again and again until the cupboard splintered off the bottom hinge. 

Bucky let his head drop forward as his anger flowed out of him like the milk across the floor. He'd have to clean that up before he was able to open the store that morning, and he was already late. He hadn't even showered yet and his day was a fucking disaster. 

His foot was sore. One side darkening with bruising.

His phone _pinged_ and he picked it up off the counter, where it'd narrowly avoided getting swept to the floor along with everything else. 

**Hey.**

Bucky smirked. He was right in the middle of a horrible moment, just like last night's post-nightmare. Of course it would be Steve.

 **Hey.** he texted back. 

**It was pretty hard to get up this morning. Not gonna lie.**

**Same.** Bucky wrote. Although getting up hadn't really been the hardest part for him. 

**How's it been so far?**

Bucky sagged down so that he was sitting on the floor with his back to the breakfast bar. He thought about lying: telling Steve that everything was fine and putting the conversation back to him. His mother was dying after all; Steve didn't need his stupid twin-related problems. **Not great.** he wrote truthfully. He closed his eyes.

The phone pinged again almost immediately. **TBH me neither. Does your misery want company?**

Bucky looked at Steve's message. Steve wasn't meant to come over until Friday and it was only Wednesday. Why did he want to come over now?

 _He's just being kind,_ Bucky thought. But he remembered the great conversation they'd had in the shop the day before, and the texting conversation just last night. Steve liked him. Maybe not in the way that Pietro thought, but there was something there. 

And damn, he could really use a shoulder to cry on right now. At least metaphorically. 

**Yes.** Bucky wrote. **Give me half an hour to get cleaned up.**

**Shall I bring breakfast?**

**Breakfast would be great.** Bucky wrote because he was a glutton for punishment. But then he realized something. **Don't you have to work?**

 **My boss has given me some time off to be with my mom.** Steve answered. The 'before she dies' didn't really need to be said.

 **You'll have to keep me company while I open the store.** Bucky's heart was aching for Steve and his impending loss, but he had no idea how to express that over text. 

**Not a hardship.**

Bucky couldn't help the smile that split his face. "I love you," he breathed, and then, "But I'm not your soulmate!" in the same breath. 

Steve wasn't his. Steve _couldn't_ be his. No matter how his blue eyes and kind smile made Bucky's heart pound. Steve might want to be friends, but that was now, before Bucky told him the truth that he couldn't read his soulstrings for him. No matter what Steve might think of him right that second, admitting it would change everything. Steve would leave and never look back.

And just like that, his mood was as dark as it'd ever been. His cousins knew it was his fault their mother had died, and then he'd screamed at Pietro for it. He deserved their love even less than he deserved Steve's friendship. 

He was a terrible person. 

Bucky's thumb hovered over the mini keyboard of his phone as he thought of how he'd text Steve to let him know that he couldn't do the soulstring reading like he'd promised. It was wrong for him to keep that from him. He needed to stop lying. 

But he didn't. He was too selfish—too needy—to deny himself Steve's company. **C U soon.** he texted, before standing to deal with the sticky mess he'd made on the floor. 

And if that wasn't a metaphor for his whole fucking _life_ , than he didn't know what was.

* * *

Bucky had just managed to clean up the kitchen and shower by the time Steve showed up at the bookstore.

Steve was smiling as he came through the doorway, brown grocery bag in one hand and a tray with two takeout cups in the other. But his face was pale and he had blue smudges under his eyes, showing that he hadn't slept. The faint redness rimming his eyelids was a strong hint that he'd probably been crying.

But he was still exactly as gorgeous as Bucky remembered, only now he knew there was a beautiful heart inside the perfect package. 

"I brought bagels." Steve held the bag aloft. "And cream cheese. Plain, cinnamon and, um, strawberry? I didn't know what you'd like."

 _I like you,_ Bucky thought with a pang. He did like Steve, probably way more than was healthy, considering Steve was only there to find his soulmate. He'd love to believe the Bagels meant that Steve liked him too. But Steve was a genuinely nice guy. Bucky knew he shouldn't read too much into it.

"I like any kind of cream cheese," Bucky said. He'd actually never tried any kind of cream cheese that wasn't plain before, but he'd eat dirt if Steve brought it to him. "And thanks. This was real nice of you." 

Steve's grin widened. "Happy to do it." He put the bag down on the counter and added the tray of takeout cups. "And I hope you don't mind but I brought us coffee." His cheeks pinked. "I really don't like tea all that much." 

Bucky laughed, surprising himself with how quickly being with Steve elevated his bad mood. "Me neither, but a lot of our customers like it." He busied himself helping Steve take their breakfast out of the bag, making an appreciative noise when the smell of the bread hit his nostrils. The bagels were plump and soft and still warm. "These look great." 

"Wait 'til you taste them." Steve's eyebrows rose as he looked at Bucky. "Is that a prosthetic?"

"I had some cleaning to do this morning. It goes faster with two hands." Bucky kept his eyes down, like getting the last bagel out of the bag took all his attention. He didn't want Steve to see how awful he felt about the huge literal and figurative mess he'd made that morning. The fight he'd had with the twins was still writhing inside him. They knew he'd killed their mother. He didn't know how to live with it. 

"Huh," Steve said. He looked at Bucky like he could see through Bucky's smile to the turmoil underneath. But then he grinned. "It's a good look for you. Really Blade Runner."

Bucky laughed again. "I was going for more Star Wars." 

"Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader?" Steve asked as he took a bagel that smelled enticingly like cinnamon. He used one of the supplied paper plates and cut the bagel in half with a plastic knife, then spread half of it with cinnamon cream cheese. He put it on another plate and gave it to Bucky. "Try that one first." 

Bucky grinned his thanks and took a bite. His eyes widened. It was the best fucking bagel he'd ever eaten. It was like eating a cinnamon roll without the cloying sweetness, but somehow better. He knew he'd be forever ruined for any other bagel. 

"You like it?" Steve's eyes were sparkling with the Joy of Bucky's pleasure. Like he thought Bucky deserved to be happy. 

Bucky swallowed his bite of bagel, unable to look away from Steve's gaze. "Yeah," he said softly. "I like it a lot." He wasn’t talking about the bagel.

"Me too," Steve replied, even though he still hadn't eaten anything. 

And then, between one moment and the next, they were kissing. Steve's mouth was warm and soft against his, sweeter than anything Bucky could think of. Bucky pressed in closer, his hand going to the back of Steve's neck. Steve's palms cupped Bucky's cheeks, holding him like he was precious, like Steve would never let him go. 

Steve gently nudged the seam of Bucky's lips with his tongue, and Bucky immediately surrendered, opening his mouth to let Steve deepen the kiss. Steve tasted a bit like coffee and a lot like honey and Bucky was immediately addicted. He could kiss this man forever. 

His body was responding under Steve's tender onslaught. Bucky could feel himself straining against the zipper of his jeans. He wanted Steve, wanted him naked; wanted to be naked with him. He gripped Steve's back with his right hand, aching to feel the solid muscle beneath Steve's button-down. He wanted—

He wanted Steve to be his, but he couldn't. Steve was waiting for his soulmate, not some guy who'd fucked up so much he'd destroyed his own family. Bucky stepped back.

Steve followed him, blinking stupidly when Bucky's lips were no longer attached to his own. "Bucky?"

"I'm sorry." Bucky's eyes were firmly on the remains of his bagel, too ashamed to meet Steve's gaze. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve said softly. "You had a rough morning. It's probably not the right time for me to make a move on you. I get it." There was no judgement in Steve's tone, only gentle apology. Bucky looked up, surprised. _How can this guy even be for real?_

Bucky nodded. "My morning really did suck." That didn't have a damn thing to do with why he'd stopped kissing Steve, but he'd take the out.

"Wanna talk about it?"

To Bucky's surprise, he actually did. "I got into a fight with my cousins. About breakfast, of all things." 

"Yeah?" Steve raised his eyebrows. 

"Normally I open the shop really early and I'm down here while the kids are getting ready for school. But today I slept in." 

"My fault." Steve grimaced. "Sorry." 

"I'm a big boy, I could've stopped texting." Bucky smiled at him to let him know how much he hadn't wanted to stop. "So I caught them eating their shit breakfasts. Nutella, sugary cereal, and not a scrap of protein or piece of fruit in sight." 

"And you got mad."

Bucky nodded. "I try so hard to feed them right. And the first chance they get, they're eating whatever crap they want."

"It must be hard. I know my mom had to put in long hours at work to make sure that I had the basics, but it also meant she had to be away a lot. I know I ate a lot of crap I shouldn't've either." 

"I’m just really trying, you know? And it always feels like it's not good enough. Like I'm not good enough to take care of them." Bucky felt immediately embarrassed after that confession. Natasha was the only one he'd ever told that to, and that was only after months of them getting to know each other. He'd known Steve for less than a week, and Steve had his own shit to deal with. "But never mind that. How are you?" 

Naturally Steve ignored his lame attempt to change the subject. "You haven't really given me the details, but I remember your cousins saying that you rescued them from Sokovia. I'm guessing that was during the Uprising that happened five years ago?"

"It was four," Bucky said tersely. He'd remember the date until the day he died. His hand automatically moved to the remains of his left arm, feeling the unyielding plastic of the prosthetic under his sleeve. This was skirting really close to the territory Pietro had already torpedoed that morning. It was a place Bucky absolutely did not want to revisit.

"Were their parents killed?"

Bucky nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself, warding off the unwanted memories Steve's gentle questioning was evoking. It'd already been hard enough with Pietro less than an hour ago. _I wish you'd never come._

"So you've been both mom and dad to them since," Steve said. "Holy shit, that's brave." 

"It's not brave," Bucky spat. "I'm the only relative they've got left. What did you expect me to do? Abandon them?"

"Of course not," Steve said immediately. "I'm just acknowledging that the situation would be really hard. It was hard for my mother when she had me, and I wasn't an orphan from a war zone. You can't have been very old when you took them in, and you care enough to keep them from eating shit for breakfast. That's pretty impressive." Steve was smiling, trying to diffuse the tension that had sprung up between them. 

_It's my fault they're orphans._ It was on the tip of Bucky's tongue to say it, to see if Steve would still think that Bucky was 'impressive' once he heard the truth, or if he'd have the same look Pietro had: horrified and destroyed all at once. But he kept silent, still too much of a coward to face Steve's disappointment.

"It's not impressive," Bucky said instead. He refused to meet Steve's eyes. 

"You rescued them from Sokovia," Steve said softly, "and you've been raising them ever since. If that's not impressive, I don't know what is."

"I didn't rescue them," Bucky said quickly. There was no way that he could let Steve believe that. None. "It was their mother, Magda. She died saving them." He felt like he was choking on the words.

Steve glanced at where Bucky's remaining hand was pressed tightly to his prosthetic. "You were there?"

Bucky could only nod in response. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the conversation to end. 

"Jesus," Steve breathed. "That must have been awful." 

Bucky nodded again, eyes still closed. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"It might help. I know talking about how I'm feeling about my…my mom dying helps me feel better." 

"I appreciate what you're trying to do," Bucky said as patiently as he could. "But please don't."

"I just don't want to see you hurting." 

"I get that. But I really can't do this now." Not after that morning, and probably not ever. But he wasn't going to let Steve know that. 

"But I could help." 

Bucky lost it. "No you can't! Not you, not the twins, not _anyone!_ No one can help me with this, so stop fucking asking!" 

They stared at each other, Steve's blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise at Bucky's outburst. Bucky felt horrible to have done that. But he was also furious that Steve would dare to ask him about the worst part of his life. He felt ambushed and overwhelmed and so broken that he didn't know how he was still standing. 

The bell over the door jangled and an elderly lady with a young blond woman came into the shop. Bucky turned his attention towards them, pasting a smile on his face and hoping to hell it was hiding the turmoil he felt inside. "Hello ladies," he said brightly. "How can I help you?" He let them pull him away from the counter with his half-eaten breakfast and Steve. 

He ignored it when he heard the bell over the door ring, but when he looked back a few minutes later the counter was clean and Steve was gone.

* * *

The store ended up being extremely busy for a Wednesday, which made it much easier for Bucky to just focus on work and pretend nothing bad had happened. He paused for a break around mid-day, taking just enough time to run the bagels and cream cheese up to his apartment and stick them in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil. He grabbed one and scarfed it down as he returned to the store, ruthlessly shoving away the twinge in his heart as he remembered Steve's happiness when Bucky had tried the bagels; Steve's laughter; the blue of his eyes; the softness of his lips. 

_It's for the best,_ Bucky reminded himself as he started the end-of-day clean-up. Steve most likely hated him now, which meant that he probably wouldn't be returning for the soulstring reading that Bucky lied about being able to provide. Which meant that Steve wouldn’t hate him for being a liar, just for being a crazy asshole with anger management issues. 

Yeah, totally for the best. 

He sighed as he swept underneath the display of harmonic crystals. At least it meant that Steve wouldn't hate him for the truth: that he killed both the twins' mother and his own mother through his carelessness. He could stand it if Steve hated him. But if he ever saw Steve looking at him with the same disgust and horror as Pietro…

Bucky wiped at his eyes, clearing away the moisture that had suddenly formed there. He'd spent the last four years trying his best to shield his cousins from the reality of what he'd done, but apparently they'd known all along. He had no fucking clue why they'd treated him so well, like they actually loved him when he knew he deserved nothing but contempt. But then again, they were orphans and he was their only living relative left. It wasn't like they had a lot of choice. 

He wiped his eyes again, and then again until he was just standing in the middle of the store, hand over his face as he cried. 

_You're disgusting,_ he thought as he scrubbed at his eyes. He was such a fucking loser, breaking down like that, feeling sorry for himself when the twins could walk in at any second. After his tantrum that morning they really didn't need any more of his shit. _Suck it up!_ he commanded himself fiercely. He really owed the twins for that morning. Maybe they could have tea and cookies together again before he'd have to re-open the store for the evening rush. Maybe he could even try to apologize….

He checked his watch. It was past five. Bucky blinked and checked his watch a second time. His heart stopped, and then started up again at double the speed it was before. 

It was after five on a school night and the twins weren't home. 

"Don't panic," Bucky muttered to himself. It'd been a really busy day. He probably just hadn't heard his phone when they texted him that they would be late. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, checking for any texts or missed calls. There wasn't anything. 

"Don't panic," Bucky repeated. He opened his phone and snapped off a quick text to the group chat he had with the twins, asking them where they were. He tried not to hold his breath while he waited for a response, but there was nothing. 

He called. First Wanda, then Pietro. The calls went to voicemail, so he called again thinking that maybe they just hadn't heard it. Still no answer. And no answer after that or the call after that. 

He texted again, and then again, but the 'delivered' never changed to 'read.' 

"Don't panic!" he commanded himself. The twins were fine. They were fine. They were savvy street kids who'd survived the Uprising. New York was nothing. 

Then it hit him right in the stomach: The twins weren't home or answering his calls or texts because they'd run away. 

He'd practically told them to do it, after all. Yelling 'get the fuck out!' was kind of a hard message to miss. For sure Pietro would've told Wanda what happened. Neither one of them would want to come back. He'd chased his cousins away. 

He was shaking, his prosthetic vibrating with the strength of his fear. He had to get them back. He had to find them and bring them home. He couldn't lose them. They were his family. He loved them more than he loved his own life. 

"Don't panic," he whispered. He tried their school. The phone rang probably a hundred times before it went to a voicemail message that told him someone would get back to him after 8:30 the next morning. He hung up. 

Bucky started checking through his contacts, looking for names of the twins' friends or their parents for him to call. He realized with a start that he had only three numbers connected to Wanda and Pietro, and two of them were the parents of friends that the twins hadn't spoken about since elementary school. He dialed the third, wracking his brains for who the person might be, but he immediately hung up. There was nothing that he could say that wouldn't make him sound both creepy and desperate. 

"I should call the cops." They'd probably involve child protection services, and the twins would be taken away. But at least they'd be safe, right?

But it was barely five-forty-five. Maybe if he gave them a bit more time? 

He should call the cops. 

Bucky bit into the joint of his index finger, hard enough to bruise. He was going to lose his mind like this. "Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't…" 

He opened his contacts to pull up a number, his heart pounding like a jackhammer, but it rang before he had a chance to dial. He immediately accepted the call. 

"Bucky?" 

"Steve," Bucky's voice broke on the word. 

"Bucky?" Steve repeated. "I was feeling—what's wrong?"

"The twins are missing—they've run away. Steve, I chased them away! They're gone!"

"Wait. The twins are gone?"

"They've left. I had a fight with them and now they've left—" Bucky was sobbing.

"Hang on," Steve said. "I'll be right there."

"No, it's okay," Bucky said automatically. He was sobbing and dying from embarrassment and paralyzed with fear all at once. "I'm sorry—" 

"I'm coming over," Steve cut him off. 

"I should call the police," Bucky said. "Do you think I should call the police?"

"My best friend Sam, he's a police officer. Would it be okay if I called him?"

"Yes," Bucky choked out, relieved that Steve was going to do that for him. He could barely think straight, let alone figure out what to say to 911. 

"Great," Steve said. "I'm actually walking towards your place now. I'm going to hang up to call Sam, but then I'll be right over. Can you hang on until then?"

"Yes," Bucky said. 

Bucky had no idea what Steve heard in his voice, but his words were sharp: "Bucky! Promise me that you can hang on until I get there!" 

"I promise," Bucky said obediently. 

"Thank you." Steve's relief was evident. "I'll be there soon, Bucky." 

"Okay." Bucky rubbed his face against his sleeve. It did nothing to stop his tears.

* * *

Steve arrived less than fifteen minutes later, flanked by two officers in the black uniforms of the NYPD. 

Bucky was sitting near the back of the store against the side wall, near to the case of the crystals that he hadn't finished cleaning. He was sure he looked crazy, sitting on the floor; his face streaked with tears. But after he'd gotten off the phone with Steve he hadn't had the strength to move. He hadn't felt this hopeless since he'd woken up in hospital in Latveria. 

"Bucky?" Steve went right to him. "Jesus Bucky, are you okay?"

"Yeah." Bucky's voice was watery, but he took the offered hand and let Steve pull him to his feet. 

The two cops followed Steve, neither one saying anything as they took in their surrounding with careful, quiet scrutiny. The shorter, stockier one turned the 'open' sign to 'closed' and locked the door, before turning to survey the store with keen interest. He had a rugged, square face that was more interesting than good looking. His nametag read 'Barton.' The other officer was tall and handsome, with a well-trimmed goatee and a face that looked like it was built for smiling. The nametag on his black jacket read 'Wilson,' and instinctively Bucky knew that this man was Steve's friend. 

"Bucky, this is my friend, Sam," Steve said, confirming Bucky's guess. 

Sam shook his hand. "Pleasure." His smile seemed like he actually meant it. 

"Likewise," Bucky said automatically. "Thanks. Thanks for coming."

"Any friend of Stevie's." Sam grinned. He pulled out a small notepad with a thick black cover and a pen, gesturing at the other officer. "That's my partner, Clint." 

"Hi," Clint muttered. He was bent over the table where Pietro and Wanda did their readings.

"So, you say your cousins have gone missing?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded to Sam. "They, uh, are usually back by four-thirty at the latest, but it's just gone six and I haven't heard from them." 

"Uh huh." Sam made a note. "You check the school? Call their friends?"

"No answer at the school," Bucky said. "And. Um. I don't really know their friends." 

"'Gonna have to fix that after they come home," Clint said. He moved the crystal ball that Wanda used for her scrying from one hand to another before putting it back down. "They're pretty powerful psychics," he said.

"Yes," Bucky agreed. "Wanda's a—"

"Scryer. And the boy's clairvoyant, but he likes to pretend he's just using psychometry. She's a hell of an intuitive and he's awesome at divination." Clint's eyes met Bucky's. "And you're just hiding." 

Bucky blinked. "What?" He moved closer to Steve, who put his arm around his shoulders. Bucky leaned into him, glad for the support. 

Sam was looking at his partner. "What you feeling there, Clint?" It was obvious that Clint was as much of a psychic as the twins were. Bucky could practically feel the energy crackling off him, just like it'd been with his mother before she died. He closed his eyes against the stabbing of pain the thought carried with it, feeling his eyelids prick with tears. _Fuck._ He really was losing it. Steve tightened his arm around Bucky, confirming his presence. 

"No one's run away," Clint said, and when Bucky opened his eyes again it was to see Clint still staring at him. "At least not physically." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes still boring into Bucky's. "What you running from, James?"

Bucky felt trapped, pinned by Clint's eyes like an insect on a board. His whole body had stiffened under Clint's examination. "Running?" he repeated stupidly. He knew exactly what Clint meant.

Steve slid his hand down Bucky's back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "I don't see how that's relevant to finding Wanda and Pietro." 

"Clint's never wrong," Sam said. "Now me? I can sense if you're telling me the truth or not, but that's the extent of my Talents. Clint here? He's got it all going on. If he thinks something's relevant, it probably is." 

Clint started moving around the shop again, pausing every once in a while to pick up an item and toss it from hand to hand before putting it back down. He ran his hands over the counter where Steve and Bucky had eaten bagels that morning and he smiled. "You should tell Steve," Clint said. He was focused on Bucky again, his pale green eyes drilling into him.

Bucky felt like Clint's words were burrowing under his skin, prying him open until he was defenseless and vulnerable. He'd yelled at Steve just that morning when Steve had been gentle in his questioning, but he felt helpless against Clint's knowing gaze. 

"Tell me what?" Steve looked at Bucky but Bucky couldn't look away from Clint and his observation. 

"Everything," Clint said to Bucky. "All of it. You do that, and you'll all get to finally come home."

"That doesn't make sense!" Steve said hotly. He turned to Sam. "Sam, I brought you here to help Bucky, not to spout riddles! What the hell is Clint talking about?"

"Jesus, Steve." Clint rolled his eyes. "You're an empath. Figure it out." 

"Anything we need to do here?" Sam asked Clint. He was already pocketing his notebook.

"Nope. They're all good." Clint turned to Bucky again. "Kids'll be home soon. But seriously, you need to let go of the guilt. It's what Magda would've wanted." 

"His mother's name was Winnifred," Steve said.

"I know." Clint winked at Steve. He slapped Sam on the back. "That took less time than I thought. Your turn to buy coffee. I'm gonna wait in the cruiser. Nice meeting you," he called over his shoulder, unlocked the door of the shop and then was gone. 

"Is that guy for real?" 

Sam chuckled. "They don't call him Hawkeye for nothing. Man's got a sixth sense like you wouldn't believe. Honestly, I don't know why they haven't made him a detective by now." 

"But he means it?" Bucky finally found his voice. "Wanda and Pietro? They're safe? They're going to come home?"

"He wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it," Sam said with total conviction. "I've been working with Clint for three years now, and I've never seen him steer anyone wrong. Not ever." 

"Thank God." Bucky leaned against Steve, barely holding himself upright. The twins were safe. They'd be coming back. That was all that mattered.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to it," Sam said. His voice was softer when he spoke again. "Do you think I could come by, later this week when I'm off shift? See your mom?"

"I'm sure she'd like that," Steve said, equally as soft. Gently he disengaged from Bucky to give Sam a hug. "Thanks for coming." 

"What are friends for?" Sam hugged him back. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" He let go of Steve and shook Bucky's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Thanks, thanks so much," Bucky shook Sam's hand fervently. The awful, crushing panic was lifting and the relief was making him almost giddy. "If there's anything I can do to repay you. You and Clint. Anything at all…"

Sam's expression turned almost shy. "Steve said you could do soulstring readings?"

Bucky's elation crashed to the floor. He looked between Sam and Steve, and their expectant faces. This was it. He was going to have to tell Steve the truth. There was no way he could continue to lie to him, not after everything he'd done to help. He licked his lips, dread coiling in his chest. "I need to tell you something—"

There bell above the door jingled as Pietro and Wanda came rushing in.

* * *

"Bucky!" Wanda cried, fear in her voice. "Why is there a police car outside?"

"Did somebody rob the store?" Pietro's eyes widened. "Are you _crying?_ "

"Oh my God, you're home!" In one movement Bucky had crushed the twins into his arms, hugging them tightly enough that his prosthetic left arm was probably going to leave marks on Pietro' back. He was shaking as the fear of what could have happened fought for dominance over his relief to have them safe. He could feel their hair getting wet with his tears. 

"Time for me to go," Sam said. "Nice to meet you folks. I'll stop in some other time for that reading." 

Bucky nodded at Sam and gave him a watery smile as the officer left.

"What's going on?" Wanda's voice was muffled against his chest. "Why are you crying?"

Pietro's chin was digging painfully into Bucky's shoulder. "Bucky?" There was so much uncertainly and fear in that one word that it penetrated some of the haze in Bucky's mind. He stood back, still holding onto the twins, but now he could see their faces. Their beautiful, precious faces that he was so sure he'd never see again.

"I thought you'd run away." 

"I had track practice," Pietro's voice still held confusion. "And Wanda was working on sets for the musical. It's on the calendar." 

_The calendar._ Bucky closed his eyes at his stupidity. He'd never thought to look. "I thought you'd run away," he repeated. "After our fight this morning. I thought you—" he choked on the words, voice cracking. 

"You thought we'd run away?" Wanda asked, incredulous. "Why?"

"Because I yelled at you," Bucky said. "And then you left…and I…" He was still crying, his words getting lost in his tears. 

"But it was my fault," Pietro said. "I should never—"

"It wasn't!" Bucky protested. "It was me!"

"But—"

"Let's take this upstairs," Steve said, gently steering Bucky and Pietro towards the back of the store. Wanda took the hint and locked the door before following the three men up the stairs. There was a part of Bucky that knew it would make more sense for him to send Steve on his way, to have this talk with the twins in private, but right now he _needed_ Steve. Needed his calm, quiet presence. 

He was so tired of doing this alone. 

He let Steve lead them into their apartment and sit him down at the table like he were the guest and Steve were the host. The twins got up to help, and Bucky was grateful to have the few moments alone to try to collect himself and figure out what he was going to say. 

He knew he had to say something.

Natasha had been telling him for years that he needed to talk to the twins about Sokovia. Steve had told him that talking about what was bothering him would help, and now Clint had said the same thing, albeit in a very strange, intrusive and indirect way. 

But no matter what, Bucky knew he couldn’t keep going on like this. Maybe his guilt and anger hadn't driven the twins away today, but it was only a matter of time before it finally did. 

He wiped the last remnants of tears off his face just as Steve and the twins sat down. They had four cups, the teapot, and bread and jam for everyone. It made Bucky smile. 

Steve shrugged. "Irish mother," he said by way of explanation. "Tea, bread and jam pretty much fixes everything." 

They ate in silence for a while, Bucky relishing the sweetness of the jam and the hot drink. Steve had used the jam that Bucky had ordered specially from the only Sokovian grocers in Brooklyn, like he'd known how the familiarity of the taste would make Bucky feel cared for, safe in a way he hadn't since he'd been a child. He looked at his cousins, both of whom were eating quietly, lost in their own thoughts. They probably felt exactly the same thing.

And it suddenly hit him. _He_ wanted to make them feel that safe. He wanted his cousins to feel cared for, and loved, and like they could tell him anything. Like what they wanted to eat for breakfast without having to worry that he'd lose his shit. He cleared his throat. "I need to tell you something."

"And that's probably my cue to leave." Steve smiled as he rose from the table. 

Bucky shook his head. "No, please stay." He knew his smile fell flat but Steve sat back down. 

Bucky turned to Pietro and Wanda. "Firstly, I'm really sorry for this morning. I should never have yelled at you guys like that. Especially not you, Pietro. I'm sorry." 

"But I should never have said—"

"No," Bucky cut him off. "Pietro, its true what you said made me angry, but…But I should've never gotten so upset. You were only saying the truth, after all." He took a breath, wishing he didn’t feel quite so much like the words were blocking his throat. "It is my fault your mother died. I should never have gone to Sokovia, but I did, and it cost your mother her life. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He started crying again.

Wanda and Pietro were staring at him, looking more like twins than they usually did, with the equal shock painted across their faces.

"But it was the rebels that killed our mother," Wanda said.

Pietro nodded vehemently, his green eyes liquid. "I remember. We were in the car—" 

"—And the rebels were approaching, and she gave me the envelope with our money and our documents—" Wanda's voice overlapped her brother's, "and she told us to go with you into the woods, to cross the border to Latveria—" 

"—And that she loved us," Pietro said, and now he was crying too. "And then we ran out of the car into the woods. She drove the car into the guards to keep them from shooting us." 

"And they shot her instead," Wanda finished. "They shot Mama…" Pietro put his arms around her and they held each other, weeping softly. 

"Oh my God," Steve murmured. 

"Yeah," Bucky said. "Yeah, all that happened. But you forgot. You forgot what she said to me before we got out of the car. She knew she was going to die and it was my fault. She told me she wished I'd never come." 

Wanda and Pietro both stared at him again, but it was Wanda who spoke. "She did not say that."

"She did." 

Wanda shook her head. "No, she didn't." 

Bucky felt a flare of anger. Why didn't she understand? "She did!" Steve put his hand on Bucky's forearm, squeezing gently. It helped. Bucky took a breath. "She did," he said more softly. "I was there." 

"So was I, and Pietro," Wanda said. "And she did not say that."

"No," Pietro agreed. "I remember everything that happened that night. Even when I don't want to." 

"She told me she wished I'd never come," Bucky repeated. "I know. I heard." 

"You heard the wrong thing," Wanda said. "She said that she wished you'd _never come to harm_. Not that she wished you'd never come!"

"What?" Bucky whispered. He felt like the floor was tilting beneath him. Everything he'd been so sure of for the past four years had shifted so suddenly it was like he was falling. "But I heard—"

"You heard wrong!" Wanda said again. "Mama knew you were coming days before you arrived. She told us that we'd have to follow you into the woods, and that we had to watch out for each other so that we'd stay safe." Her shoulders sagged. "Mama must have known what was going to happen. That's why she had those papers ready for us." 

"She probably knew you were going to get hurt," Pietro said. "Mama always knew things like that." 

"She was telling me she wanted me to be safe?" Bucky said. He felt faint.

"Yes." Pietro nodded. "She was glad you came, because it meant we were going to go to America."

"You saved our lives," Wanda said, repeating what she'd told Steve just a few days before. "And you lost your arm because of us." 

"That is why you should never have come," Pietro said mournfully. "If you had stayed in America you'd still have two arms. It is our fault you don't." 

"Oh, no!" Bucky got out of his seat to pull his cousins into a hug. "I'd lose my arm all over again if it meant you two would be safe." 

"But you never talk about it," Pietro said, even as he hugged Bucky back. "Because you're so angry—"

"No! I never talk about it because…because…"

"You thought Magda's death was your fault," Steve said. 

"Yeah," Bucky said, grateful that he didn’t have to say those words out loud again. He'd spent four years thinking that he'd killed Magda just by showing up in Sokovia, but apparently he'd thought wrong. It was a huge mental shift, and one he knew he wouldn’t be able to make in one night. 

Because if he didn't kill Magda, did that mean his mother's death wasn't his fault, either? It was too much to think about. Not after the day he'd had. 

But right that second he was holding his cousins, and maybe, just maybe, he hadn't done more harm than good. And right that second, it was enough.

* * *

"Hell of a day." 

Bucky smiled gratefully up at Steve as he accepted the beer that Steve grabbed from the kitchen, and then made room so Steve could sit on the couch beside him. Steve had stayed while Bucky and the twins had sat and cried at the kitchen table, and then he'd made them all eat something a bit more substantial than jam and butter before sending the twins off to bed. 

The twins seemed to really respond to Steve and his gentle presence. It had felt wonderful to have another adult in the house to share the load, even if it was just for that evening. 

Bucky wanted Steve to be around longer than just one evening, if he was being honest. Which he probably should start doing by actually telling Steve that the soulstring reading wasn't really going to happen. 

He just wished telling Steve the truth wasn't going to ruin everything. He sighed.

"Come here," Steve said, and leaned back against the couch so that Bucky could cuddle into his chest. Bucky hesitated for a moment, and then allowed himself to collapse against Steve. He had kissed him after all, snuggling against him couldn't be worse than that. 

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in companionable silence in the darkened room. Bucky could feel something ease inside him, like the tight bands that had been around his chest since Magda died had finally begun to loosen. He wasn't ready to totally believe what Pietro and Wanda had told him—not yet, at least. But he knew it would come. 

Natasha had been right. Talking about their shared, tragic history had been healing. He kind of wished he'd done it sooner. 

"You seem content." Steve's lips barely brushed Bucky's forehead.

Bucky smiled. "You really are an empath." 

He felt Steve shrug. "Not a very powerful one, though. I can only feel the emotions of people I'm close to." 

It was very clear what Steve wasn't saying, and Bucky's smile widened. "I like you, too." 

He felt Steve's puff of laughter against his face. "I'm glad. Might've been awkward otherwise." 

Bucky knew Steve was referring to the kiss they'd shared just that morning, and probably the fact they were cuddled together on the couch right that second. But it was the complete opposite of awkward. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable-- _so right_ \--with someone. He wasn't sure he ever had.

Being with Steve felt like what Bucky had always imagined being with his soulmate would be like: safe and totally at ease and like he'd never want to be anywhere else.

Which really sucked, actually, because Steve wasn't his soulmate. He couldn't be. There was no way that Bucky could possibly deserve someone as wonderful and sweet as Steve. Especially since he'd been lying to Steve pretty consistently since the day they'd met. It was probably time to set things straight. He cleared his throat. 

"I need to tell you something."

"I was hoping you'd want to tell me the rest of the story," Steve said quietly, as if that was actually what Bucky wanted to talk about. "I think I got a lot of it from what Pietro and Wanda were saying, but I'd really like to hear the rest. If that's okay." 

It was on the tip of Bucky's tongue to tell Steve that it _wasn't_ okay. That no matter what he might've heard over bread and butter that evening, Bucky had no intention of speaking about what had happened in Sokovia ever again. But then he sighed. Hadn't he just said to himself that he'd wished he'd been brave enough to talk about it with the twins sooner?

"I was twenty-one," Bucky said. "Well, a few months shy, but almost. And the Sokovian uprising had been going on for just over three months." He remembered what it had been like before that, when he and his mother had visited Sokovia just that previous summer. He and the ten-year-old twins had played at the beach and he'd had fun taking them around Novi Grad, practicing his rudimentary Sokovian with the pretty girls in the city while his cousins ate ice-cream and giggled. The only sign that anything was amiss was the increased police presence in the Capital and the noticeable posters calling for revolution that had seemed to appear overnight. 

If he'd been older, or at least more mature, he might've noticed the tension that his mother, her sister and her husband were all sharing: might've been included in the whispered conversations about what they would do if things got worse. But instead he hung out with his cousins and continued to be blithely unaware that the sky really was falling. 

He and his mother left at the end of August, and if Magda and Winnifred held each other more tightly and cried more than they'd done in a while, well, Bucky didn't really pay attention. Maybe he could've done something sooner, if he'd known. 

"What could you have done?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. "I could've convinced my mother to get her family out. To have them come back to the U.S. with us and maybe applied for immigration. At least they would've been safe." 

"Maybe." Bucky could feel Steve shrug. "But you can't tell me that your mother hadn't already suggested that. There must have been another reason they didn't come." 

"My uncle's job," Bucky said immediately. "He'd finally been offered tenure at his university after trying since before the twins were born." As soon as he said it, he knew it was the reason they hadn't left. There was no way his mother wouldn’t've moved heaven and earth to have her sister and her children come back to New York. 

"What happened next?" 

"The Uprising happened next," Bucky said. "The revolution started at the end of November. One day everything was business as usual, and then the next? The kids were being kept home from school, the university was closed and people were being shot in the streets…. They shot my uncle." 

Dimly, Bucky heard Steve's exclamation of distress. He remembered that night when Magda had called. He'd been at home enjoying the last few days of his university's winter break, when he'd heard his mother answer the phone, and then burst into tears.

It had been one of the worst moments of Bucky's life. The grief and rage he felt at his uncle's murder paled in comparison to the fear he'd felt for the life of his aunt and his cousins. It was that moment that he made his decision to go get them, no matter what it took. 

He'd just had no idea how much it was going to cost them.

"I went back to Novi Grad that March," Bucky blurted before he could change his mind. "I didn't tell my mother I was going. I just took a taxi to the airport, and seven hours later I was back in Sokovia. I wanted to rescue them."

Steve stayed quiet as Bucky collected himself for the next part of the story, merely holding him tighter, grounding Bucky with his presence. 

"The airport was a disorganized mess, with soldiers everywhere. But I was travelling on an American passport and I pretended I didn't speak anything but English, so I got through without them trying to conscript me for the army. It took me nearly three hours to get into Novi Grad from the airport, and usually it's only a half-hour by train. But it turned out the rebels had bombed the shit out of the tracks two days before. So I had to go by taxi, which was slow and really expensive." Steve knew he was babbling; filling up the air with unnecessary details, but he felt sick. His heart was pounding and his breath rasped in his lungs. There was a reason why he never spoke about this: it was because even the thought of what had happened made him feel like he was dying.

Steve seemed to understand. He shifted so that Bucky was even more enveloped in his arms, warm and safe. 

"Magda and the twins looked—" Bucky took a shaky breath. "Well, they looked like a family that had just been devastated. But they were ready to go as soon as I arrived. We were on the road towards the Latverian border within an hour of my arrival." 

"Sounds like she knew you were coming." 

It was the same thing the twins had said earlier that evening, and now that Bucky really thought about it, it only made sense. He'd spent so long thinking that his unexpected arrival had thrown off all of Magda's plans to rescue her children, and had been the reason she'd died. But that couldn't have been the case. They were already packed and ready to go by the time he reached their house. They'd only waited long enough for the sun to set and hide their tracks. Magda had even had all their paperwork in order and enough Latverian Francs to keep the four of them in food and shelter for several days. 

"I think you're right," Bucky agreed softly. "I think she did know I was coming. But it didn't save her." 

"Tell me?" 

Obediently, Bucky repeated the part of the story the twins had already told Steve earlier that day: How Magda had driven them to the border with Latveria, the one that was meant to still be held by the Sokovian government, only to find out it had been taken over by the rebels instead. He told Steve how Magda had ordered the three of them out of the car, and then told them to run like hell deep into the woods so the rebels couldn't find them. She told them to follow the river into Latveria and go to the American embassy, and she would find them there.

"But she never did. As we were running into the woods, we could hear the rebels yelling. Pietro turned to run back, and Wanda and I went to get him. We saw—" Bucky's voice broke. 

Steve hugged him, stroking his big hand through Bucky's hair, forehead to crown. It was almost as soothing as when he'd gripped Bucky's head a few days earlier, and Bucky felt himself calm with the repetitive motions. 

"They had their guns pointed towards us," Bucky whispered. "Magda drove the car into them to stop them from firing at us. She…she killed them to save us." 

"Sounds like she was very brave." 

"She was," Bucky agreed solemnly. "But some of them were still able to open fire. They killed her. And then Pietro got hit." 

Steve tensed behind him. "God." 

"Yeah," Bucky let out a sound that was nothing like a laugh. He remembered that moment like a brand seared into his memory. He heard the _pop, pop, pop!_ of gunshots, and then saw his cousin fall. 

"He'd been hit in the calf. Just a graze, really, but it'd taken a chunk out and he was…" Bucky shuddered. He remembered seeing Pietro lying in the snow, his pant leg soaking with blood; Wanda shrieking and pulling at her twin's hand. 

"I used the first aid I'd learned at school to patch his leg up the best I could, and then Wanda helped get him onto my back. He was in so much pain. Barely conscious, but he held on. He held on like a fucking monkey for the three days it took to walk to Latveria through the fucking woods." 

"Three days?" Steve sounded amazed. "You had him on your back the whole time?"

"As much as possible. I had to put him down sometimes, to check his leg or just rest. He was kind of heavy." 

"Holy shit," Steve murmured. "That's incredible. What you did." 

"Anyone would've." 

"Maybe some people would've, but not everyone. You were extremely brave." 

"Stupid, more like," Bucky said with a grimace. "Turned out I'd been hit, too. But I never did anything about it and the wound got infected. By the time we finally got to a road my arm was a fucking mess, and since they saw me as a Sokovian refugee, the Latverian doctors didn't do a whole lot to try to save it." He remembered that; the way the pain and heat built up in his arm, how it spread to his whole body until he was coated in sweat but freezing at the same time. How it hurt so badly to have Pietro's weight resting against his arm, but he knew that he had no choice or they'd both die in the woods, and probably Wanda too, because she'd never leave her brother. He remembered every stumbling step forward, and the way Wanda had to lead him as he grew sicker more unsteady. He'd managed to hold on until they'd finally reached the roadway in Latveria. He didn’t remember very much after that until he woke up in hospital with half his arm gone.

"God," Steve said again. "That's awful."

"That's not even the worst part," Bucky said. "My mother flew into Latveria as soon as she'd heard what happened to me. She came to see me in the hospital, and I was high on pain medication, and just so damn grateful to see her that I…I told her about Magda. I told her that her sister was dead." 

"That must have been very hard. For both of you." 

Bucky laughed bitterly at Steve's accidental understatement. "Hard enough to kill her," he said bluntly. "My mother heard about her sister, and her heart gave out. She died right there in the hospital. Right beside my bed. There was nothing I could do about it." 

"Jesus," Steve breathed. "Oh my God, Bucky. Bucky I'm so sorry." 

Bucky could hear the tears in Steve's voice, probably a reaction to the sorrow Bucky was exuding from every inch of him. His own tears seeped from his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He never let himself think about his mother's death. 

"My mother's dead," Bucky wept. "I killed her. She'd dead and I killed her! I let Magda die, and then that killed my mother! I killed her!" 

"No, no, no," Steve repeated the same word over and over as he held Bucky in his arms. "Oh no Bucky. You didn't kill her. She had to have had something wrong before. Maybe a clot got lose during the flight to Latveria, but there's no way that telling her the truth would've killed her. That's just not how it works." 

"But Magda died because of me—" He wanted to believe it wasn't true, but it was so hard.

"She died because those Sokovian rebels shot her," Steve interrupted. "Just like they killed your uncle and they tried to kill you. You are not responsible for what happened to Magda, they are. And your mother's death was horrible and tragic and so terribly unfair, but it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault Bucky. It wasn't." 

"I want to believe you," Bucky whispered. Just like he wanted to believe his cousins that his aunt hadn't blamed him for what happened right before she died. He was so tired of feeling guilty. 

"Sometimes mothers just die," Steve said, his voice catching on his tears. "And it doesn't matter what you do, or don't do, or say or don't say. Sometimes mothers just die and there's nothing we can do to stop it." 

"Steve…" Bucky turned in Steve's arms so that they were now face to face. Bucky could see the tracks of Steve's tears, the deep sadness in his eyes. But Steve was smiling at him as he gently removed Bucky's tears with the pad of his thumb. He was so beautiful, and kind and good down to his bones, and Bucky would never, ever deserve someone like him. Which, of course, meant that all Bucky wanted to do was kiss him senseless, no matter how shitty an idea that was. 

But Bucky's entire history was one shitty idea after another. He leaned in and kissed him.

Steve's lips tasted like tears, which made Bucky's heart ache, and all he wanted was for Steve to not feel sad. Suddenly he realized _he_ didn't want to feel sad anymore. He didn't want to feel unworthy of Steve, or angry at the world, or guilty for Magda's death or _anything_ like that ever again. He was so tired of trying to hide from how he felt; of not talking to Natasha or the twins in the vain hope that it would keep everything from hurting. But it still hurt. It _always_ hurt and, he realized with an intensity so sharp it stole his breath, it wouldn't ever stop hurting until he actually faced it. He needed to just fucking face his sorrow and his anger and his guilt and just fucking deal with it.

But first he was going to kiss Steve so hard…

Steve opened to him immediately, moaning against his mouth. Bucky licked along Steve's teeth, twining their tongues together and then sucking gently until Steve moaned again and ran his hands down Bucky's back, and then up and under Bucky's shirt. Steve's hands were warm against his skin, and it felt like Bucky was catching fire under Steve's touch. He pressed against him, until they were joined chest to hip. He could feel Steve's hardened cock where it pressed against his own straining erection. It felt amazing and he immediately wanted _more_ and _now._ Bucky slipped his hand under Steve's shirt, bracing himself against Steve's taught oblique muscles, feeling them contract under his skin. 

Steve took Bucky's exploration as some kind of invitation, and suddenly Bucky found himself shirtless and on his back on the sofa; Steve's legs bracketing his hips and his hands busy over Bucky's torso, moving restlessly like they wanted to touch every inch of Bucky at once.

"Fuck, Bucky," Steve breathed, "you are so fucking gorgeous. I've wanted to do this the second I saw you—" he broke off to devour Bucky's lips with his own, fierce and wet and _filthy_ and Bucky was squirming and gasping and ready to come in his pants like some horny teenager…

"Teenagers!" Bucky panted. "Wanda. Pietro! We can't do this!" 

Steve sat up. "Oh God." He rubbed his face in obvious embarrassment. "Oh Bucky, I'm so sorry. I should never…God. You were upset! And I'm…I should go." He moved to stand.

"No!" Bucky said immediately, his hand flying to Steve's belt to keep him in place. "You going is a _terrible_ idea."

"But you said we can't do this."

"Here!" Bucky corrected immediately. "I meant we can't do this _here!_ In case the twins wake up." He licked his lips, suddenly shy. "I have a bedroom?"

"Oh thank God," Steve breathed. He stood and helped Bucky to his feet but didn't let go of Bucky's hand. His irises were a thin ring of blue around pupils blown wide with lust and desire. "I really want to have sex with you, Bucky." 

"I want that, too." Bucky grinned and bit his lip.

Steve's returned smile was brilliant. Bucky couldn't help but laugh as he tugged Steve down the hall towards his room, and then he laughed louder as Steve shouldered his door shut and then tumbled them both onto Bucky's bed. 

And then his mouth was way too busy for laughter.

* * *

Bucky woke to the pleasant sensation of Steve's arm draped over him, hand against his heart, and Steve's warm breath tickling his bare shoulder. He felt sated and sore in the best way, and more relaxed and calm than he could remember being in forever. He smiled to himself, pressing his back against Steve's torso, feeling warm and happy and deeply in love… 

His eyes flew open and he stiffened under Steve's arm with the sudden revelation. He was in love with Steve. Steve, who had come to him for a soulstring reading so he could find his soulmate who was most definitely not Bucky. Because Bucky was a big fat liar who had told Steve he could do a soulstring reading when he couldn't, and then had sex with him instead of telling him the truth. 

What the fuck had he done?

He squeezed his eyes shut. The guilt roiled like nausea inside him. 

"Bucky?" Steve murmured, voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

Bucky grimaced without opening his eyes. "I’m fine," he lied. "Sorry I woke you." 

"You're not fine," Steve said, sounding more awake. "Bucky, I can feel it. What's wrong?"

"I lied to you," Bucky forced out before he lost his nerve. "I told you I can do soulstring readings. But I can't. I lied to you and I'm sorry."

"Bucky—" Steve started.

"I'm really sorry," Bucky repeated before Steve could say anything else, and probably break up with him, which was really no less than Bucky deserved but would still hurt like hell. "I should've told you a while ago. I shouldn't have lied to you at all, really. But you looked so sad and I really wanted to help you. But I can't, and now you won't be able to tell your mother who your soulmate is and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry." He rolled away from Steve and lay on his back, forearm thrown over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Steve's disappointment. 

"Bucky," Steve said. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "Bucky, look at me." 

"I'm sorry," Bucky said again. He didn't remove his arm. 

"Bucky!" Steve said, and now he sounded exasperated. "Bucky, look at me, please?"

Bucky lowered his arm and shifted his gaze so he could see Steve's face. Steve was smiling at him, as kind and loving as ever. Bucky's guilt stabbed at him. He did _not_ deserve this man. He dropped his gaze. 

"I lost the Talent after Sokovia. I used to be able to see them, but after I lost my arm…" He shook his head, trying to dispel the image of night in the woods and blood, dark like tar against the snow. "When I woke up in Latveria, my arm was gone and so was my Talent," Bucky said in a whisper. "I haven't been able to do a soulstring reading in four years. I should've told you. I'm sorry." 

"Hey, it's okay." Steve nuzzled against Bucky's temple. "I knew that you couldn’t do the reading from the minute you told me your mother had died. It's okay." 

Bucky's eyes flew to Steve's, surprise etched into every line of his face. "You knew?"

"Empath, remember? I could tell that you felt guilty and scared as soon as I asked for a soulstring reading. It wasn't a big stretch for me to realize that it probably meant you couldn’t do it. I wasn't totally sure until you said it just now, but I'm not surprised." 

Bucky was still looking at Steve. "You knew?" he repeated. "But you kept coming back." 

"For you. I kept coming back for you." Steve smiled into Bucky's eyes. 

"But you need to find your soulmate!" Bucky's heart had started to pound with Steve's declaration. He so _badly_ wanted Steve to be his, but it wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be. Bucky was messed up and broken. Steve deserved so much better. "Your mother—"

"Bucky!" Steve cut him off. "Listen to me. I came back _for you._ I don't care if you've got my soulstring around your wrist or not. You're sweet and funny and kind, and you're probably the bravest man I've ever met. How could I ever want anyone else?"

"Because I'm broken, Steve," Bucky voiced what had been buzzing around his head. "I've been messed up since I lost my arm in Sokovia, and…and I'm still not sure I didn’t cause my aunt's death, and even on my good days I feel like I'm barely holding everything together." He blinked, his eyes burning. "I’m broken. And you deserve so much better." 

"You are not broken!" Bucky flinched with the ferocity of Steve's words. "You're healing! You've lived through more trauma in the past four years than most people have to deal with in their entire lives. You run a business and take care of two teenagers and you still have the compassion to help a stranger who breaks down crying in the middle of your store, and you think you're broken?" 

Bucky knew Steve was referring to himself and the day they met, but he didn't think what he'd done was that extraordinary. Steve had done so much more for him and gotten so much less in return. Because he was broken. A tear slipped free from his eyelid and ran down his cheek. 

"No," Steve repeated softly, as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb the way he'd done the night before. "You're not broken, Bucky. You're healing." He cupped the side of Bucky's face with his hand. 

"Healing?" Bucky repeated. "But, I still feel broken."

Steve nodded as he stroked Bucky's face. "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places."

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "You're quoting Ernest Hemingway at me?"

"Seemed to fit," Steve smiled. "Maybe you were broken, Bucky. But now you're strong in the broken places. I can feel it." 

"Well if an empath can feel it, it must be true," Bucky smirked.

"It is true," Steve's smile didn't change. "And I can feel it. You're healing." 

Bucky licked his lips, thinking about what Steve had just said. He thought about his epiphany of the night before, and how he'd realized he didn't want to feel bad anymore. He wanted to feel better; healthier. Like maybe he could actually be healing after all. Like he could be strong in the broken places, just like Steve believed. "Maybe. Maybe I am healing," he said. The idea fit. He smiled.

Steve beamed back at him, and then they were kissing again. 

Bucky was very late opening the store that morning.

* * *

"Stronger at the broken places, huh?" Natasha quirked her eyebrow at him.

Bucky grinned back at her. "What, you don't think that would make a good tattoo?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, what do you think?" She leaned back in her chair, still looking at him. 

Bucky had arrived at his weekly therapy appointment feeling like a different person. It'd only been a day since he'd had what he now knew was a life-altering conversation with Steve, but he could feel the change it'd brought seeping straight into his bones. He knew he still had work to do, the guilt about Magda's death was still there, but it felt like it had edges now; places where he could actually start to shave it down to something more manageable. And this time he wasn't afraid to talk about it. 

"I think it would make a great tattoo," Bucky said. "Because it represents me." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Bucky leaned forward. "Because I was broken. But I'm getting stronger in the broken places." 

Natasha's entire demeanor changed with that one sentence. She perked up suddenly, as if he'd spoken for the first time. "You were broken?" she asked, deceptively mild.

"Yes," Bucky said. "In Sokovia. When my aunt died and I lost my arm." 

"Tell me more?" The _please_ was as explicit as it was silent.

 _She really wants to help me,_ Bucky thought. He'd known it before of course, on an intellectual level. That was why he'd kept coming. But this was the first time he recognized her honest desire to help him feel better. She wanted to help him heal. 

And this time, Bucky was actually going to let her. 

"I got to Sokovia about two weeks before my twenty-first birthday," Bucky said. And then he told her the story.

She sat in silence as he finished, the crease in her forehead the only sign of her distress at his words. "I always knew you were brave," she said after a moment of silence. 

Bucky shrugged. His face was hot. "Steve said the same thing." 

"He's a smart man." She tilted her head. "Don't you feel brave?"

"Not really." He shrugged. 

"Interesting. Can you tell me more about why you don't feel that carrying your wounded cousin, on your back, through a forest, for three days, while your arm became so badly infected that it had to be amputated, was brave?" 

Bucky paused, absorbing what she'd said. Spelled out like that, his actions actually sounded…good. Like something he might want to be proud of. One day. 

"Thoughts?" Natasha said as she reached across her chair to get the cup of tea she'd put on the side table. The movement exposed her left wrist. 

Bucky glanced at the flash of skin, then gasped, his eyes huge. "Your wrist!"

Natasha put her tea down and lifted her arm in front of her face. "What's wrong with my wrist?"

Bucky felt laugher bubbling up inside him. Steve was right. Bucky was stronger at the broken places. The evidence was right there, glowing like the gold soulstring wrapped around Natasha's left wrist. And his Talent was working just like it did before he lost his arm. He knew who her soulmate was. 

"Your soulmate is a police officer named Sam Wilson." Bucky grinned. He looked down at his right wrist, and his grin widened. "And I have to go. But we can discuss my feelings of bravery when I see you next week. I promise." 

"I'll hold you to that," she called after him. "And who's Sam Wilson?"

* * *

He met Steve at the hospital.

"This is really sweet of you," Steve said as they walked along the corridor towards his mother's room. "I mean, I know we've only been together a few days, and it's probably too early to meet her but…"

 _But she doesn't have a lot of time._ Bucky heard what Steve hadn't said. He took Steve's hand, giving it a squeeze. Steve smiled gratefully in response. 

"I'm very happy you want me to meet your mom," Bucky said. He bit his lip. "You think she'll like me?"

"She'll love you." Steve's voice was thick was sincerity. "And it means a lot to me that you asked to meet her."

"You mean a lot to me," Bucky said. He squeezed Steve's hand again, glancing down at their entwined fingers and where their wrists were touching. He couldn't help smiling. 

Steve was looking quizzically at him. "You're awfully happy." 

"I'm going to meet my best guy's mom." Bucky grinned at him. "What's not to be happy about?"

"Most people would be nervous," Steve explained as he opened the door to his mother's room. 

"Nothing to be nervous about," Bucky said with another wide smile. They went inside.

Seeing the frail woman draped in blankets with sallow cheeks and dull blue eyes was nearly enough to dim Bucky's spirits. But she looked so much like Steve when she smiled, and she seemed so genuinely happy to see them, that Bucky's mood barely dipped at all.

"Steven!" Sarah said, breathy with happiness. "Did you bring me your Bucky?"

"I did ma," Steve said, going over the bed. "Bucky, meet Sarah." 

"Hello, Sarah." Bucky put his hand out for her to shake. Her skin was dry and paper-thin against his hand, but her grip was strong. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him. 

"Oh Steven, you found your soulmate! And he's so handsome!"

Steve's smile faltered. "He's very handsome, but he's—"

"Steve is my soulmate," Bucky said. He pushed back his right sleeve with his prosthetic, proudly displaying the blue soulstring wrapped around his wrist, which was a perfect match for the one on Steve's left arm. He knew Steve couldn't see it, but it made him happy every time he looked at it. 

And apparently, it was making Sarah happy to look at it, too. "Oh Steve." Her eyes were shiny with happiness. "Your soulstrings match. You've found your soulmate!" 

Steve's eyes were almost comically wide. "Bucky?"

"My Talent came back this morning," Bucky explained. "I called you as soon as I saw it." 

Steve was still staring. "You read my soulstrings? Ma! You said you couldn't!"

"Of course I still can," Sarah said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm not dead yet. Why did you think I sent you to the bookstore?"

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

Sarah winked at her son. "And now where's the fun in that?"

* * *

When they got back to the store, Wanda and Pietro were waiting for them. 

"We sold over five-hundred dollars in books!' Wanda exclaimed happily. "Maybe you should be out of the store more often." 

"But now that you're here," Pietro said as he slyly turned the sign from 'open' to 'closed', "can we go upstairs and have bread and Sokovian jam with Steve?"

Bucky laughed. "Oh, so Steve's your favourite now?" 

"He's your soulmate." Wanda shrugged. "Of course we are going to like him." 

"And he's much nicer than you." Pietro grinned. "It makes it very easy." 

Bucky and Steve laughed before they both stopped. Bucky blinked. "How the hell did you know he's my soulmate?"

"Pietro and I kind of felt it?" Wanda said. "Your connection is very strong." She sat down at the table in the back and started to rub her crystal ball with a velvet cloth.

"Do you not remember me asking you if he was your soulmate?" Pietro said, slightly indignant. "I wasn't asking just for fun." 

Bucky was still blinking. "You can _feel_ soulmates?"

Wanda and Pietro looked at each other. "Can't everybody?"

"Oh my God," Bucky muttered, as Steve laughed and laughed. 

"You should have the wedding next summer," Wanda said as she stared into the crystal ball. "Steve's mother will be better by then and she really wants an outdoor wedding." 

Steve's laughter died abruptly. "My mother will get better?" His expression was almost heartbreakingly hopeful. 

"She is already better," Wanda said. "Her doctors are very good." 

Steve turned to Bucky, incandescent with happiness. "Did you hear that?" He pulled Bucky into a giant hug.

Bucky hugged him back with all his strength. He was so happy for Steve, to hear that his mother was going to survive. But Winnifred was dead and it still hurt. Maybe it wouldn't ever stop hurting. 

_Stronger at the broken places._ The thought made him smile. Magda's death, Winnifred's death, the loss of his arm, it all still hurt. But Steve was right: Bucky was healing, and he was stronger. He knew that now. 

Gently he and Steve stepped back from their embrace, their gazes still locked. There was so much love visible in Steve's eyes, it almost took Bucky's breath away. This was his soulmate. The one the Universe had chosen just for him. 

He was the luckiest guy in the world. 

"I do not think I want to eat now," Pietro said to Wanda. "My cousin's heart eyes are making me feel sick." 

"More jam for me," Wanda said. 

Steve was still laughing as Bucky kissed him.

END


End file.
